Marrionette Lament
by Kiden Nixon
Summary: Halloween town was awaiting the return of the Pumpkin Princess,but instead, they got a human. Will the error be corrected before the portal is sealed?Or will her prescence stir what horrors lie beneath.
1. Justifying a Superstition

Disclaimer: I in no way own 'The Nightmare Before Christmas'.

"The cemetery?" The girl asked skeptically, stopping suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, unable to suppress a shudder as the cold autumn breeze blew softly across her face. "Why would you want to go there of all places? On this night of all nights?"

"Because Faust." One of the girls began, turning her dark amber eyes down upon the shorter female. She was cadaverous in appearance. With long bony limbs and skin so pale it seemed to lack blood, to lack the very pigment, to lack any color but for the hollow shadows around her eyes. "It is all hallows' eve, the night when the dead are most awake."

Marilyn Faust, feeling uncomfortable beneath the unblinking gaze, tore her own eyes away and instead studied a crack within the pavement. The taller girl noticed this, and her thin lips twisted into a venomously vile smirk, then a sly smile as her eyebrows arced in cruel amusement. "Faust . . . tell me you're not afraid? If you are . . . you could always go home."

The other girls began to chatter amongst themselves at this, a few giggles and chuckles passed between them. Marilyn squirmed uneasily, fingering the black matter of her dress, and the soft white lace that hung beneath it. Truth be told the petite teen held no fear toward cemeteries, nor for Halloween and superstitions, but she had spent so much time making her costume . . . she hated to think of dirtying it so soon. Yet, glancing at the others girls all dressed in simple store-bought costumes with their masks in hand, she realized she was the only one who didn't want to go, and being left behind was a thought far more distasteful than the fate of her costume.

"No, Jezebel. I'm not afraid." The girl replied. Hating Jezebel with a passion only rivaled by her need to be accepted by the skeletal girl. Once again she was the puppet. "I would follow you to Hell and back, if I could."

A smile spread across Jezebels face, a cold Cheshire cat grin. The other girls seeing this smiled wide as well.

"Good. Tonight you will be tested. Now, lets fly!" With that the taller girl spun on her heels and started down the empty streets in the direction of the city necropolis. The other girls, ghastly ghouls with red tainted cheeks and eyes wide with the excitement of promised mischief, quickly followed suit. Only Marilyn hesitated, glancing around at a group of children as they scurried down the street in the opposite direction, then at the moon in which hung full and orange like a sinister eye amongst the black curtain of the sky.

"Something bad is going to happen . . . " She whispered to a presence she felt, but knew was not there. Jezebel's words still hung in the air, wrapping the girl in the fingers of paranoia as they sent ominous tremors dancing up her spine.

Do not expect an update anytime soon, this is nothing more then the prologue, and I am a procrastinator. The characters you all know and love may appear sometime next chapter. Till then, please review.


	2. Come Hell or High Water

Disclaimer: I don't own the Nightmare Before Christmas, The wonderfully amazing Tim Burton does.

The city cemetery had long since been expanded, the remnants of the stone wall still scattered within the masses of grey tombstones and crosses that rose from the grassy hill, and as it grew it became less used and even less visited. None seemed to respect the dead as much as they had in the time of old, but time had not dampened their love of rumors and superstitions, time seemed to only give them life, and like weeds they grew with no remorse.

"I can't get the lock open!" Marilyn stood to the side of the group, watching anxiously as the girl continued to poke and prod at the heavy lock with little success. Jezebel was growing impatient, lurking like a shadow behind the girl, watching her every move intently. With one final jab the girl tossed down the lock and returned the silver utensil to her bag. Standing up she dusted off her palms and turned to the group. "There is no way."

Marilyn sighed in relief, quelling the small smile that threatened to appear upon her lips with a look of exaggerated disappointment. "There are no other ways to get in. I guess we'll just have to find something else . . . "

Jezebels' eyes locked on hers, and the dark determination smoldering behind the narrowed irises chilled the girl into silence. She should have known that wasn't the end. When dealing with Jezebel, there was never an end. The taller girl turned her attention back to the necropolis, giving the group a clear view of her long auburn hair that, in comparison, seemed so bright to the stark blackness of her simple witches robe.

"We'll just have to jump the fence." She said simply, taking a few steps back, she launched herself into the air like a vulture, with her cape flaring out like massive black wings. The girls gasped. Her booted feet landing safely between the spear headed bars at the top of the fence. "Make sure not to be impaled my little marionettes!"

She cackled and leapt down on top of a nearby tombstone. Marilyn, stunned, continued to stare. She had always known there was something different . . . something not quite right about Jezebel, but . . . she glanced back at the other girls, who had all lined up at the fence preparing to climb, the tallest was already half way over . . . watching now as she stood within the cemetery something about her seemed different. The girl noticed her gaze and smiled madly.

"What are you waiting for Faust, climb the fence." Jezebel said gleefully. "There is nothing over here but us of the dead!"

She gave a spin, placed her hands on her hips, and laughed in maniacal joy to the sky. Marilyn winced, but managed to laugh nervously as she studied the rod iron fence that stood a good two feet above her head. Being so short, it was an impossibility to climb the fence without assistance. She glanced past the girls to the entrance, where the gates stood fastened and tight among all that remained of the stone wall. It was too late to back down. Quickly, before the other girls made it over, she sprinted to the entrance and slid her foot in between the piled rocks. Grasping the bars of the gate and the fence she pulled herself up high enough to grab the top of the pile, and from there she slid her foot into the next groove, and then the next, and finally made it to the top.

Glancing at the others she saw they were nearly over now, and turned her eyes to Jezebel, who turned her gaze to the girl once more, watching the slow progression, watching everything at once. Marilyn sat down carefully, hanging her feet off the side as she prepared to slide off the stone. She paused for a moment, and looked back at Jezebel.

She could have sworn for a moment Jezebel had been a skeleton. She could have sworn her flesh had vanished, and one eye had gone amiss while the other remained spinning within its socket. She could have sworn . . . so many horrible thoughts were running through her mind. She shook them away and turned back to the task at hand. There was no way she could have seen what she thought she had. It must have been a trick of the moonlight.

Playing with the image and the thoughts in her mind she slid from the stone and landed on her feet with a thud. Her breath caught in her throat. On this side of the fence, everything seemed colder.

"We have little time to waste." Jezebel informed them darkly, and for a moment Marilyn could have sworn she had seen it happen again. Jezebel surveyed them carefully, coldly. "Now follow me."

With that she leapt from her tombstone perch to the top of a stone cross, and took off, leaping from one headstone to the next, the girls following along the ground. Marilyn watched, trying to calm her heart as another wave of panic washed over her. They could get in such much trouble. She could get in so much trouble. Turning back to the fence, she wondered what her chances of escape were. Glancing back at the group, no longer in sight, she picked herself up to her feet and edged cautiously toward the gate. What would Jezebel think . . . ? Would she even notice she had left . . . ? Marilyn pondered as she reached for the metal bars, heart pounding as another cold wind picked up the leaves and brushed against her bare shoulders. She had all the others, no one would notice . . .

Something nearby snapped. Marilyn's heart leapt, and forgetting completely about her plans to escape, she spun on her heals and sprinted through the necropolis. Accelerating as she felt the fear building within her chest, beating at her heart like a drum as the winds whispered and moaned words into her ears and twigs snapped beneath her feet. Paranoia reached a climax and for a moment she swore she spotted shadows dancing at her heals. Someone was following her! She narrowly dodged a cement pillar before sprinting down the graveyards paved road. Casting a glance over her shoulder she caught nothing but the sight of empty street.

She slowed down, until finally she was walking. Breathing heavily she began searching for the others. Glancing over tombstones, between mausoleums, beneath the wings of a few small stone angels, and yet never leaving the pale glow of the flame lit lanterns that dotted the paths edge. With every moment passing earlier dread began to grow, her feet began moving faster, from a walk to something verging on a jog, her search became more frantic and with every step she felt the old panic growing. She was doing all she could to keep from running, as the feeling of being watched began to return. She was lost.

Everywhere she turned, the old fears were returning. Being alone. The follower. The darkness, the dread, the skeleton that used to haunt her very nightmares, the three little children in masks, all of it like a whirl wind began to return. All that had plagued her, was all coming back to her. At least she had the lamplight.

"Marilyn." Her heart stopped. "Marilyn, are you afraid?"

The lamp she was standing under dimmed, and slowly as if playing into her worse fears, died. A scream rose within her throat, and again she took off, lamp after lamp dimming and dying within her wake, she tried running faster, but her breath was catching within her throat, trying to keep up with the light, but darkness raced ahead, every light along the path dying before her eyes. Unable to suppress a sob she shut her eyes and felt the tears rush down her cheeks, she forced her legs to move faster, as long as she kept moving nothing would catch her. As long as she kept moving . . . mid step she collided with something hard, her eyes snapped open and her jaw dropped, allowing nothing but a pitiful whimper as a pair of arms entangled her small form. From somewhere behind something slid around her wrists, in terror she realized it was a rope.

"Faust, it's time for you to have faith." A voice cooed within her ear. "It's time for you to prove yourself."

"No . . . "Marilyn gasped, but she was already being dragged away from the path, away from the smoldering candles. She was being dragged into the true darkness. "No! Stop it! Let me go!"

She had little strength to struggle, and the shadows ignored her pleas as they led her through the graveyard. In her mind, and in her fear she prayed to God, to any God, to anyone who would save her. For the first time she prayed, and for the moment fell silent.

"We're here."Announced Jezebel quietly. The procession stopped, and Marilyn was dropped to the ground. Where was here? She wondered amongst other questions as she studied the circle through half opened eyes. Realization hit her. They were standing within the center of the original cemetery! Daring to open her eyes wider in the bright light of the candles that danced and swayed from their perches on the tombstones, she saw instantly the angel, the sharply curved wings with the delicately inscribed feathers, the massive stone book resting within her arms, and the two unmarked doors that lay closed upon her stand. Marilyn had often wondered what lay within those doors, but had never wondered enough to look for herself, and had always been too afraid to ask.

So engrossed she had been with the angel that she didn't notice the others entering the circle of light after her.

"She is beautiful, no?" Marilyn turned to reply, but what she saw made her throat run dry. With a mask resting in one hand was something that resembled vaguely a clown with puffs of red hair on either side of it's head and an outfit of colorful silk, the only thing missing was it's face. Where a nose and a mouth and eyes and flesh should have been was nothing but a gaping black hole. "Boo!"

Marilyn screamed, falling on her side she tried desperately to get away, but something stepped within her path. She glanced up. This time she did not wait to scream. Whatever it was, it was not human. Its flesh dripped and sagged like melted wax, a great lump of the 'stuff' falling upon her dress. She screamed again and leapt back, only managing to fall on her ass.

"Somevone make 'er shut up!" Tearing her eyes away from the melting monster, she found the voice. A vampire, and beside her was a witch. Surrounding her, She was surrounded by monsters. She tried to shut out the image and scream, but the sound would not come. Over and over she tried, until the tears sprung once again from her eyes and her throat finally rebelled, soar and burning. Out of breath, and out of strength she allowed her shoulders to slump foreword, and her chin to rest dejectedly against her chest. There was nothing she could do, no one could hear her.

"That's right Faust, no one can hear you." It was Jezebel. Marilyn didn't even need to look up to know that she too was a monster, but did almost pitifully. Jezebel smiled, the single yellow eye rolling and spinning as the empty socket gazed fixedly at the petite prisoner, she was a skeleton, with hair growing somehow from the top of her skull. Everything, everyone she had dedicated her self to was a monster. It was no longer a Halloween costume, no longer cheap masks, or store-bought costumes, they were real. "No one but us."

"Now don't feel sad Marilyn." Jezebel said cooed, studying the look of desperation on the girls face, the terror, the disbelief, the loathing. "You and Wagner will not be harmed. We only need one of you for what we have in store."

"I will never help you, Jezebel!" Marilyn glanced up , noticing for the first time the presence of the only other human besides herself. A rather plump, plain looking girl with matted dirty blond hair and dark brown eyes. "My parents will sue you for everything you own!"

Marilyn was dumbfounded. But Jezebels amusement only seemed to grow, the monsters laughed and Marilyn could feel the circle closing in. "Too bad no one will be here to tell them."

She made a small movement of the wrist, and in an instant the girl named Wagner was seized by the neck and hoisted into the air by a werewolf, snarling and snapping it muted out her cries with its jaws. Shrieking in delight at the fresh blood shed the vampire swooped down and grasped the girl from the creatures hairy clutches. But the werewolf had not been finished, and with a deafening roar it pounced upon the blood sucker. As did the other monsters, all fighting for a piece as Jezebel watched from her throne upon the angels stone book.

"Now, while the blood of man still flows warm!" More monsters rose from the darkness, creeping out from behind the tombstones as instantly the night was filled with the sound of creaking and scratching and grunting as the stone doors of sarcophagi sprang open, and from the ground beasts dug their way out from their graves. From behind, Marilyn, could hear the doors at the base of the angel being pried open, a gust of cold air, tension, adrenaline, fear, the stench of rotting flesh, of blood, of death.

The monsters rushed forward, grabbing at her and lifting her with ease even as she struggled. The stars mocking her as they glowed from above. She would find out soon enough who was buried beneath the angel. Or maybe it had been meant for her. No one would ever know, but upon the doors in her blood, written by her soul would be her epitaph. Written by Jezebel. Written by fear. Written by monsters.

Here lay Marilyn Faust. Sweet Daughter. Quiet Sister. Perfect Little Marionette.

She screamed, and flailed in vain with new found strength. Trying to ignore Jezebel, beaming down at her from the angels book. Angling her head so the hair threw a demonic shadow across the empty socket. The yellow eye twisting and spinning dizzily. She prayed it was a dream, a nightmare, she prayed for anything.

But despite her prayers, with a final roar from the monsters, her petite form was tossed into the hungry darkness of the tomb. . .

the doors closed instantly behind her.

I'm sorry if you hated it, and I swear that in the next chapter (I hope) the characters we all know and love will show up. I tried fitting them in sooner (thats why it took so long) but this just seemed a great place to end it. Forgive me. And please review, constructive criticism is always welcome over the flames from hell.


	3. Making of a Monster

Disclaimer: I do not ownThe Nightmare Before Christmas, or anything incorporated. Jezebel and Marilyn are of my own sound minds creations, and shall be borrowed only under my approval. I thought I would try something new, before we returned to the life of our miserable Marilyn Faustus.

* * *

Can the dead grow old?

Can they mature?

Can they age like normal human beings? Like blood and flesh?

These questions buzzed beneath the lid of the good Doctors skull as he puzzled over his newest project.

To make a child for the newly wedded Pumpkin King and his Pumpkin Queen. A child with traits similar to both of them, and yet the ability to grow, to be nearly alive, but with limitations. A child that could live, but not die, could age but not grow old.

He lifted the top of his skull and scratched what remained of his brain as he watched his assistants collecting all the necessary ingredients to begin the procedure. Already they had a skeleton prepared, the tiny body of a three year old who had years before fallen from the lynch tree, and a brain Dr. Finkelstein had created himself. Once the child was completed he or she would know within reason, everything the doctor knew.

Of course, that was when the child was done.

Jack visited often, carrying beneath his arms ideas and plans and possible statistics. He wanted her to be smart, to be cunning and creative, but most of all he wanted her to be his heir, he wanted her to be scary.

Sally came as well, thought not as often, with her hopes and dreams and desires. She wanted her daughter, which is what they had decided, to be graceful, elegant, and independent. Most of all, she wanted her to be like Jack.

So the good Doctor began. Now as Crystal returned she piled the ingredients down on the table. A wilted forget-me-not for memory, a tiny metal pump for a heart, and yards and yards of thin tubing to serve as the vanes. Of course, none of this stuff would do the same thing as their human equivalents.

Studying the formulas Jack had drawn, and the supplies the skeleton king had brought, he finally decided on a basic plan of action.

With an invention of his own, the doctor carved thin lines into the inside of the bones, he hollowed them and slowly slid the wires through. To the heart he connected the ends, and with metal bound the bones together. The joints could be severed simply by tugging hard enough, and just as easily be reattached, so just like Jack, his child could tear apart and reassemble its own body, if the need to ever arose. To avoid making any mistakes, the doctor made sure the tiny wire-like tubes would close once the joints were separated, as not to spill their precious fluid once it was added.

With another tool, a human one, he cut off the top of the skull and carefully placed the brain inside. Wires would not be needed in the brain for, once the process was complete, it would work on its own.

For Sally they gave it eyes, a mop of dark brown hair, and a few limbs covered with fabric flesh, sewn meticulously in order for it to be separated easily.

For Jack they gave it a skeleton's body, detachable limbs, and a grinning mouth like the Cheshire cats.

For both of them, they gave it half-life.

Among the things Jack had brought, the Doctor had found a strange book. Within the pages lay the secrets of life and of death, explained and simplified into formulas and charts. With the help of the witches, he managed to create a concoction that would spark the dead cells into life, and give it the ability to grow as long as the liquid was supplied. Once the supply ran out, the body would stop aging, and the child would remain the same forever without end.

For Sally they gave it a voice.

For Jack they gave it strength.

For both, they brought it to life.

He placed the decanter of liquid into the metal heart, and flipped a switch. The liquid began to circulate through the vanes as the metal heart began to pump. If his calculation were correct, one single drop absorbed into the bones each day would be enough to keep it growing normally, if not a little fast, and the supply now pulsing through her vanes would be enough for the next eight years.

If not the doctor always had some stored away beneath the operating table in a locked chest.

It was a rare and difficult concoction to make, and when it ran out, he had no intention of ever making it again.

It was just too hard to liquefy the living human soul, when no human was willing to die.

The doctor steered himself over to the window, and threw it open enough for him to fit his head out.

A shock had to be generated to the artificial brain in order to bring it to life, with lightning he could do that.

"No storms coming tonight." He muttered, as Crystal lowered him back into his chair. "The rest of the procedure will have to wait till tomorrow night."

Scratching his brain once more, he allowed Crystal to wheel him out the door, turning off the lights as he went, before they began the descent.

"I wonder where Igor has gone?"

Igor, who had left to answer the door, clambered up the stairs a matter of minutes after Crystal and the Doctor had left them. In one hand he held a note for the doctor, and in the other a tiny crystal vial. The note, which he had read with difficulty, was supposedly from Jack.

_This is the final ingredient to our project, pour it on the brain. _

_-Jack. _

It appeared to be written by a young child, but Igor didn't know better. He clutched the vial close, as he entered the laboratory, waiting until the dim lights flickered on before he shuffled over to the operating table.

With a stupid grin he threw back the white cloth, dropping the note to the floor, forgotten, and stared down at the creation.

Had he been in the right mind, he would have given the note straight to the doctor, but his simple sense of pride would not allow it. Ever since Crystal had showed up Igor had grown obsolete and, like a dog, he hoped to return to his masters good graces.

Placing the vials cork on the table, he reached forward and opened the skull.

If he did something good, the master would give him biscuits, give him attention-

He lifted the creation's shoulders off the table, watching for a moment as the liquefied human soul spun and wound its way through the body.

If he did good-

He emptied the content of the vial into the skull, and for a moment it lingered and collected in the grooves.

Then without a sound, it sank into the soft flesh.

Outside three children sprinted away from the building, laughing and cackling as the disappeared into the darkness.

The next day, during a violent storm, Jezebel Skellington was born.


	4. From the City Aglow

Disclaimer: I do not own The Nightmare Before Christmas, now do I own "Come Along" By Danny Elfman, which can be found off the soundtrack of "Little Demons."

Jezebel, is mine, and shall remain used by me and me alone, unless I grant you my permission. (Not that anyone would use her anyway.)

To the eyes of Halloween Towns inhabitants, it would seem that there was nothing wrong with Jezebel, and for six years there wasn't. She was a quite girl, crafty , cunning and careful enough to make her a favorite of the witches, and yet dark, deep, and brooding enough to be adored by the vampires and the mournfully violent werewolves.

Yet something about her made people uncomfortable as well.

In town meetings she would sit in the back, and watch with little interest as her father spoke of Halloween events.

Beneath her arm she always carried a leather bound book, and a series of supplies such as a quill and straight edge in a tiny bag at her side.

While others were busy planning for next years Halloween, she locked herself within the highest tower of her parents estate, and she drew. What she drew within that book no one knew, but she never put it down, and never let anyone see.

Other then that she rarely joined the other children, and when she did, she was always in charge.

Maybe this was what scared the behemoth, but he could not stand near her, and if he did, he shook and pretended he was somewhere else.

Or maybe it was her constant secrecy that unnerved the clown with the tear away face, who could not help but believe that she hid more behind a mask then he did.

Perhaps it was her cold Cheshire cat grin, and disregard for others that sent chills up the spine of the Corpse family, who's child shudders and cowered against his mother leg when the girl passed, and who's mother inhaled sharply and sought her husbands familiar gaze every time the child spoke, and who's father gulped whenever he saw the girls yellow eyes.

But she was the Pumpkin Princess, and as far as they could tell nothing was really wrong with her. Just a bunch of superstitions.

Yet out of all the Inhabitants, the clown was the closest to the truth. For within her book she kept everything. Her thoughts, her spells, her concoctions, her inventions, her plots, and her plans. Stretched across every page in an intricate system, like spider's webs, were her very own schemes, and her very own pranks. It was her hobby, weighing the consequence of every action before she took them.

She wreaked minor havoc about the town for weeks without being caught.

Until one night, when the moon was full in the distance and the citizens of the town were away at a meeting, something strange happened below her bedroom window.

Music began to play, quiet at first and steadily growing.

At the time she had been sitting cross legged on her bed with her book resting open against her thighs. Quietly she closed it, and peered out into the silver painted night.

_Come along, come along, come along, come along_

_Come along, come along, come along, come along_

Her curiosity was growing, placing her book beside her she leaned farther out the window, and stared down at the seemingly empty streets as the voices broke into a series a 'la's'. They were near, yet far, and in a way hauntingly melodic.

_Would you like to see what really happens backstage? _

They sang their gentle repeating command again as she carefully grasped the window sill. (_come along, come along, come along, come along.) _

_It's really quite pretty when you don't have to pay. _

She tore herself away and began to dig through her room. _(come along, come along, come along, come along.) _

_Would you like to see our hiding places_

_Here in our happy world or laughing faces? _

She dug up from her chest of drawers a rope she had been saving. Throwing her book into her bag, along with her writing implements she secured one end of the rope to her bed, and brought the other one with her to the windows edge.

_Every now and then some fortunate child that we befriend_

_Can come along and join in _

_Won't you come into our magic wagon?_

She leaped out the window as it crescendoed. Plunging freely toward the ground until the rope finally jerked tight.

_If you promise not to tell we'll take you to a secret place_

Her hands had come free, but somehow she managed to reconnect them, and leaving the rope hanging from her window she started following the voices out into the night. (_come along, come along, come along, come along.) _

_I know we're not supposed to, it'll be okay_

Up ahead she could see figures darting about in the dark. (_come along, come along, come along, come along.) _

_Every now and then some special child_

_Enters our little world just for a while_

Unconsciously her legs began to speed up as her artificial heart began to pound with excitement. The shadows began darting more rapidly, and the glimpses of a hat or a tail began to grow more common.

_Every now and then we're lucky to make a special friend_

_To join us in all our fun_

_Won't you come and see our magic wagon?_

She followed them to the outskirts of town, through the cemetery farther then her father had ever allowed her to travel before. Now they were clear, three figure up ahead in a tiny four legged vessel of sorts, and without hesitation she followed their singing into the darkness.

With a massive twisted structure rising out of the gloom in the distance above them they sang, and without fear, but curious excitement she joined in.

_Come along, come along, come along, come along_

_Come along, come along, come along, come along_

_Come along, come along, come along, come along_

_Come along, come along, come along _

_Come along and join us_

_come along now and have some fun_

_Leave all your cares behind_

_Won't you come into our magic wagon?_

She left the town far behind, not bothering to look back, not bothering to plan ahead. Her voice rose above the stars and for a moment she was completely happy.

_Come along, come along, come along, come along_

_Come along, come along, come along, wheeee!_

The wind began to die down, and the music began to fade.

With her hand outstretched as though to catch the last final notes, she cross the wooden bridge, and found herself standing at the base of an old tree house.

The three figures disappeared, and something in the distance clattered and creaked noisily.

Speechless, she studied the amazing structure, and for the first time in her life, felt almost humbled.

Never had she created something so great. Wooden planks propped up between the twisting branches, draped with chains and old rotten rags. She could spy what appeared to be a series of decks, and doors, and windows, and even a metal birdcage or two, all filling the spaces of the spiraling canopy.

Filled with sudden wonder and inspiration she plopped down on the ground and began to sketch, so intently that she didn't notice the metal cage clattering down the side of the large tree. At least until she next looked up, and saw that some minuscule detail was out of place in her meticulous drawing. She did not bother to change the position of the basket, instead placing it carefully back in her bag and going forth to study the small contraption.

It was big enough to fit her, she realized, and stepped inside. For a moment she ran her hands delicately over the rusted bars, and the lever she assumed caused it to move. She pulled it, and marveled in satisfaction as the cage began to rise.

She noted every detail, storing it in the back of her mind until her next drawing opportunity.

The contraption stopped, and the door swung open on its squeaky hinges. Without the smallest hint of concern she stepped out onto the wooden deck and surveyed the ground hundreds of feet below.

It would be quite a fall. She noted as a gust of wind tugged at the corner of her mismatched-skirt. She smiled cynically as she turned and continued down the deck.

She had heard of a tree house that had once been home to three nasty little children, but she had never imagined it could possible exist. Now she was there, staring out at the town aglow with jack-o-lantern lights and dim electric bulbs.

Below, in the trunk of the tree, she imagined the evil, festering bag of parasites and insects her father would speak of without a name. She imagined him leaping about, foolishly throwing his dice as his three little cohorts chortled and shrieked in chaotic fits of frightful inspiration.

Here was the tree, and as she turned a corner, there was the door. Reaching out she grabbed the metal handle and pulled it open, all that was left were the three little demons.

Without a second thought she slipped inside, and allowed the door to close noiselessly behind her.


	5. The Hellbound Quarter

Many doors hide disaster, and this one was no different. The moment it clicked silently closed, sending a shudder through the wooden ground beneath her feet, she was attacked.

From behind, something struck her, from above something dropped, and the moment her body struck the floor, another figure darted past and slid the cylinder lock home with a resounding thunk.

"What do you plan to do to me?" She seethed through clenched teeth, as she pitched and tossed beneath the weight of her captive. She flailed as best she could with her arms pinned behind her back, but the figure straddling her hips would not, could not, be dislodged. "If it has something to do with my father . . . "

"With your father?" One quipped.

"What would we want with him!" A second cackled madly. "No, we aren't interested in the affairs of' royalty'."

"Then I assume you already know who I am." She growled haughtily, angling her head to get a better look at her captives, but no sooner had she lifted her head, that she found it forced back down, flat, against the floor.

"Of course we know who you are! "

"You're the one who has been causing havoc around the town!"

"Pulling pranks!"

"Unleashing chaos!"

"Doing our job!"

"And we want you to stop." The floor smelt like dust and sulfur, masking the deeper odor of rot and decay emanating from somewhere farther in the tree house, and above it all, lingering in the air, mingling with the natural smell of death that Halloween Town possessed, was the vile, sickening-sweet stench of sugary candy far past its prime. Leftovers from last years Halloween.

"If I refuse?" Lifting her head she studied the room through glances out of the corner of her eyes.

"We will be forced to kill you." This voice was female, high pitched and demanding, like nails across a chalk board.

"Chop you up into little pieces." Male this time, and with an undertone of ominous psychotic glee.

"Bake you in a pie."

"Feed you to your father."

"With candy and apple core crust!" Another excited male voice, but younger then the last.

"No you idiot." She could hear a palm striking flesh, the weight shifting slightly on her back, and a small exclamation of pain. "We need to make it with poison, or something. A witch's brew."

"Or rat poison like we did with that cat."

"That got the witches good." They all cackled madly at this, too distracted to notice as Jezebel pulled her right had off her wrist with her left. Annoyed by their inattentiveness, she willed her bony hand to move.

It climbed up the sleeve of the person sitting on her back, and before he could scream, began clawing savagely at his face. Just as she had intended, the boy fell promptly off her back, and as the two others laughed at his attempt to tear the severed appendage from his face, Jezebel sprung nimbly to her feet.

"You can't escape from us, the doors are locked, the windows barred . . . " The girl with the shrill nails-down-a-chalk-board voice boasted. She was dressed in a dirty dark lavender dress, with a crooked witch's hat.

"I don't tend on escaping." Jezebel growled. Finally managing to grasp the flailing skeletal hand, the boy, dressed in red from head to toy with dark orange hair molded into a pair of devil's horns, glared at her and menacingly replied.

"It wouldn't matter anyway." He threw the hand over his shoulder, where the third boy, dressed as a skeleton with skin as pale as bone itself, caught it. He grabbed a metal cage from somewhere, and locked the appendage up tight. Jezebel, after evaluating the three characters closely, could do little to contain her Cheshire cat grin.

"I see now that we could be of use to each other." The devil and the witch stopped closing in on her, and the skeleton only gaped.

"How so?" The devil inquired carefully. Still smiling Jezebel lifted her remaining hand.

"See that book?" She indicated it with an outstretched finger. "That book contains every single prank and scheme I have ever done. All the disasters I've caused, and even further, all the plans I intend to fulfill."

The witch picked up the book, and with the devil still watching Jezebel wearily, began to flip through it.

"With your resources, and my brains, think of all the mischief and mayhem we could cause? Think of next years Halloween!" Despite their attempts to look disinterested, she knew they were listening. "With my influences we could do anything, we would be unstoppable! Think of the power! Think of the chaos! If not for those, think of the Candy!"

"Barrel, release her hand." The witch commanded, and the skeletal boy, Barrel, reluctantly did as she commanded. With all three pairs of eyes on her, she reconnected the limb and smiled.

"So do we have a deal?"

"We can manage well enough on our own. We don't need you." The Devil growled.

"But your offer is interesting, we'll give you a chance." Muttered the witch. "But if you screw up, we cannot be held responsibly for what we do to you!"

"I understand." The witch and the boy named Barrel lowered their masks, the Devil already having lost his in the fray, and stepped up to her in turn.

"Lock." The devil growled.

"Shock!" Shrieked the witch.

"And Barrel!" He licked a giant lollipop he had found abandoned in the corner, and offered her a wry smile.

From that moment on the four were inseparable. With Jezebel's plans, and the trio's natural talent for mischief and mayhem, they became the most terrible trick-or-treaters ever known in Halloween, and as time past, the chaos grew. Their plans became more complicated, more intricate, bigger and much bolder. The small pranks of before having long since lost their luster in light of the terror Jezebel could inflict. As she collected information and formulated plots, the trio collected supplies, and as time passed their arsenal grew to be nearly unmatched. They were untouchable, but as time passed, Jezebel continued to grow, and the three little corpse children did not. It was not long before she caught up with the friends.

Though she was observant, it wasn't until her ninth birthday, that she realized she was growing up alone.


	6. Novem Part 1

The sun was just setting over Halloween town, as the quarrelsome quartet made their way through the Hinterlands. It was Jezebel's ninth birthday, but she had other things in mind. Each of them had a bag slung over their shoulders, all filled with a variety of items far from the streamers and brilliant lights of her father's fantasy birthday bash, and each had a plan in mind.

The first door they entered belonged to Valentines day. Something about the blood red shade of its heart-shaped door had drawn Lock toward it like a crow to gore. And before anyone could protest, they had all been drawn down into the pink and red depths of the holiday.

Minutes later they reemerged, covered in heart shaped confetti, and laughing as red plumed arrows flew up through the trunk of the tree and landed uselessly in their wake.

"Is that all you got!" Lock taunted, placing his thumb against the tip of his nose and wiggling his fingers obnoxiously. In response a fresh wave of arrows came surging up through the door, and with a shriek the devil boy stumbled, barely, out of harms way.

"Stupid ugly babies." Lock grumbled, quickly recovering from his earlier fright. He threw a glare in the direction of the others in hopes of discouraging their laughter, but, his face flushed, it only managed to encourage it. "Shut up!"

After awhile they did calm down and shook the pink, red, and white paper from their clothes, and contented themselves by licking the gobs of cooling chocolate from their fingers and faces. Done, they continued on to the next holiday.

Their second door interested no one in particular, after all, it wasn't very inspiring. But something shiny had caught Shock's eye, and she insisted that they go just in case. Lock whined and moaned but followed the witch grudgingly into the green and grassy world of St. Patrick's Day.

The shamrock-shaped door flew open moments later as the witch, followed by two swearing, screaming boys and Jezebel, leapt out into the open air. Snickering, Shock gleefully bounced her jingling, bulging sack around within the air.

"I would _kill_ to see them look into their precious 'pot of gold' now!" Shock crowed, and the wild deviousness in her eyes was only matched by the flicker of malevolence that had appeared within Jezebel's own.

Jezebel had always been somewhat cruel, but the thoughts and ideas now roiling within her mind were suddenly far worse than anything she had ever imagined. It was as thought someone had delved deeper into the darkness of her mind, had sliced open the lining and allowed the evil to bleed in. Her mind began to lose clarity, and the hinterlands, the doors, the decaying forest, all began to smudge and blur together in a swirling downward spiral of grey and black, and amidst it all, emerging from the maelstrom walls that surrounded her were the _thoughts_. They leaked in from the walls and pooled around her feet, rising and rising as more spilled in and swirled around her shoes, around her ankles, around her knees, and she couldn't fight it. She could only watch as two holes formed in her palms and began to spill the same evil, she could feel it dripping from her eyes, leaking from her nose, her head, dripping into the rising flood, that cried out to inundate her.

"Jezebel?" Gone. She blinked. The darkness was gone. Her palms were full and pale, and her face was dry, and the smell of rot had been restored to the dead world around her.

"What?" She snapped. The darkness has evaporated, but the feeling of violation still remained. "Let's move on. We don't have all day."

Hesitantly, the three nodded and selected the next door.


End file.
